Jen Tynes

from AXE



Our neighborhood song birds have tried


every way to get sober, men in the trees


doing currency, this many fingers go


to a monthly storage unit. Even I know


you guys will be open to something today.


1973 Apple Orchard


with White Tail rims


Brand new Meteor Shower


with Happy Ending


Everything in my Meat


Freezer’s got to go. You guys’ cars’ noses


nuzzling each other, establishing


boundaries. This is several generations


of mimosa enablement, cigarette trees no one bothered


to prune, late blooming aneurysm and star


of Bethlehem when some woman someone used


to know planted her feet. I know everybody


has different names for these. Sweetheart Straps


are just Bitch Seat Accessories. Fifteen is kind


of a suggestion. I will spend everything I have


if it means I have something. You guys know


what it means when I get fired.

from AXE



You are crouching in pink camo, this is not what I wanted


to be split down the middle. I was thinking artificial


voice was a bonding mechanism. Whose baby are we thinking


we left out there, to remain outside, a learned skill


getting slightly darker on its belly. Migration is thinking


of any gendered child saying their good mornings.


You need some repetition and a little ground cover.


You need to do more than measure the hinges.


Sometimes this pole barn gets so full of detriment that I think


all my crafting days are over. I teach the animal not


to look like anyone else in this family. I watch for planes that might


have enough room for us. The smell of laundry when someone loses


their voice long enough; this is all I am saying. I watch that feather


settle down, the one beneath it still angling.

from AXE



Dorky birth has a razor scooter young


enough to be your cargo; this is beer


you share with neighbors while this is less forgivable


criminal activity. Briefly we are used


to pumping water and later


in the evening looking for whoever’s daughter


slipped a track outside of the money.


God bless you for shingling


the money with something waterproof


the girl with studded pleather


the activity with a constellation


of older women with houses they need


to rebuild themselves. A larger kid who is riding


his sister’s silver tasseled bicycle thanks


gravity, thanks everybody who kept an eye


on the grass while it mended.


JEN TYNES is the founding editor of Horse Less Press. She is the author of two full-length books, The End Of Rude Handles (Red Morning Press) and Heron/Girlfriend (Coconut Books), and the author or co-author of about a dozen chapbooks, most recently Here’s the Deal (Little Red Leaves Textile Series) and New Pink Nudibranch (Shirt Pocket Press). Her third full-length book, Trick Rider, is forthcoming this spring from Trembling Pillow Press.